crappy jobs Archives - Michele Miles Gardiner Writes

How To Become Broke and Influence Nobody

How To Become Broke and Influence Nobody

Published by Michele Miles Gardiner on December 5, 2018

I thought of my next book’s title: “How to Become Broke and Influence Nobody.” Yep, last night while making dinner (okay, heating up leftover chili cheese fries), I realized I’ve had so many crappy jobs, all while making absolutely no money, I could fill an entire book.

I’ve been an awful waitress (After spilling a tray of filled beer mugs on customers, they returned another night wearing yellow raincoats), a bad showroom model (I accidentally insulted a designer), a terrible receptionist… a not-so-great aerobics instructor.

Well, here’s an excerpt from my book, Craving Normal.

While working as a movie extra, I got a second job as an aerobics instructor. I figured, why not get paid and get in shape? But I could only bounce my way to a tighter butt and shin splints at minimum wage for so long.

A few months after working at Holiday Spa in Torrance, I called in to let my manager know my car overheated and broke down. Since I was living in Hollywood—nearly an hour drive away from work—I wouldn’t be able to make it that day without a car. That’s the way I figured it, anyway. But my manager “helped me out.” She said, “No problem. Kimmy lives in your area and can pick you up on her way to work.”

I yelped a fake, “Great,” and shuffled off to get ready for Kimmy, a cute blonde aerobics instructor, to pick me up.

Wearing my aerobics outfit—nothing more than a tiny shirt, tights under black French-cut bikini bottoms, big, poufy socks, and white bouncy shoes—I waited on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. Kimmy pulled up to the curb, and I jumped in. Right away, we bonded. Not only were we both out in public wearing little clothing, but after talking, we learned we were both burned out from being bubbly every work day. We agreed we were tired of cheering people on to tighter thighs. “Come on, ladies! One, two, three, four, keep it up—just a little more! Five, six, seven, eight. Keep going. Doing great!”

We drove through the palm tree-lined streets and headed south toward the Torrance Holiday Spa via PCH, parallel to the ocean. It was a stunning summer day. As we passed the sparkling blue water of the Pacific and tanned guys carrying their surfboards, Kimmy said, “Wow, the sky’s so blue. Beautiful day.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking toward the beach and the tanned guys, “and . . . so hot.”

We looked at each other. I knew what she was thinking. She knew what I was thinking. The beach was way too tempting. Kimmy stopped at a pay phone and called in to the spa. “You won’t believe our luck. My darn car overheated. Can you believe it?”
Somehow, I don’t think they did.

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TGI Fridays: Flair, Fried Food, Fruity Drinks & F*ck Ups

Published by Michele Miles Gardiner on July 26, 2018

I can relate to Jennifer Aniston. Not because of her beauty, fame or wealth. Because I lacked flair–TGI Friday flair.

In order to save money so I could move to LA from the Bay Area, back in the mid-1980s, I worked two jobs while going to school: weekends I worked at Mills Memorial Hospital in San Mateo as a Radiology Assistant, and at night I worked as a waitress (If that’s what you can call screwing up orders, upsetting old women, and shattering glasses) at TGI Friday’s in San Bruno.

(Photos below are from the San Bruno TGI Fridays I worked at, during the same era, taken from this link about TGI Fridays).

What I remember:
*One night a drunk guy, while outside TGI Fridays, took out his penis and rubbed it along the length of the long, front window. For weeks my friends and I would point out the thirty foot, snake-like smear to people. For weeks! How were those windows not washed before then? (Photo #1, window on left is where the penis smear stayed for weeks.)

*We were trained on the menu (basically, stuffed potato skins and fruity cocktails) for two weeks, until we could spew the fried food fare we offered at bullet speed.

*If, while training, we didn’t call out our bar orders correctly (the most time consuming cocktails first, i.e., daiquiris, etc.,), the bartender would pour bottles of booze and mixers directly onto the bar and bark out, “What was that again?” What a waste!

*Before our shifts we would have to line up for inspection. My big-haired manager, Julie, would tap my exposed upper thighs with a ruler. “Your skirts are always too short!”

*People used to make out in the phone booth near the bar. (Photo #2)

TGI Fridays restaurant in San Bruno, California — Photo #2: San Bruno, CA TGI Fridays

*(See photo #3) That last table, farthest away, is where I upset a group of senior women I was serving because I forgot to bring the birthday “girl” some balloons. That’s also the same table a bunch of twenty-something guys sat at for hours one Saturday, while I ran back and forth serving them, running a tab of a couple hundred dollars. They didn’t tip me. Maybe one of them was that birthday girl’s grandson. Pay back!

*Any time glasses shattered, the entire TGIF staff would call out, “Michele!”

*This is where I served a woman and her boyfriend. From the death grip which she held on to her boyfriend’s hand and the sneer she gave me, I don’t think that woman liked me. Plus, she left me a penny tip on her credit card print out. Sweet!

*TGIF is where I was working when my doppelganger, Rita, (a girl from college I was always mixed up with), sat drinking cocktails with her friends, confusing my TGIF waiter friend. Who said to me, “Michele? I thought I saw you in a booth, having drinks?” Nah, as Rita laughed, I wore my silly, stained white and red striped shirt, covered in sticky cocktails and oil from potato skins, trying to act cheery while being absolutely miserable.

After only a few months, I quit and moved to LA.

In the video clip of Jennifer Aniston from “Office Space,” not only can I relate to her flair flare-up (I didn’t wear kooky buttons or suspenders), but I did leave my answering service job this exact same way–middle finger waving.

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Finding Humor: Flying Skirts, Crappy Jobs, Crashing Bottles – That’s Funny!

Published by Michele Miles Gardiner on July 12, 2018

What’s life without humor? One huge reason why I love reading Nora Ephron’s work: we have the same idea on life and writing. Here’s what she said about negative experiences and using them for writing material: “When you slip on a banana peel, people laugh at you. But when you tell people you slipped on a banana peel, it’s your laugh.”

Her screenwriter mother always said, “Everything is copy.” As she was dying she told Nora, “Take notes.”

So if your skirt flies up in the air, a boss tells you you’re not cut out for that crappy job, you smash into a pyramid of Champagne bottles at the grocery store (all of which have happened to me)… turn that horror and humiliation into humor. Other people and/or bad experiences can make you feel lousy only if you allow them to. Laugh. Take notes. Write!

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Diary of a Mad Car Saleswoman, First Entry

Diary of a Mad Car Saleswoman, First Entry

Published by Michele Miles Gardiner on July 5, 2018

In the summer of 2010, during the worst part of the recession, I sold luxury cars at a San Fernando Valley luxury car dealership showroom – Jaguars, Aston Martins, Lotuses…

Every Monday – I mean EVERY Monday (no matter if you had a day off or were dying) – we were expected to show up for the morning meetings. We had to get pumped up to sell, sell, sell – you know.

So one Monday morning meeting, I sat in the room full of mostly men (about 100 to 3), between a beautiful, feisty and stylish Filipina who didn’t take any crap, and another saleswoman, a gorgeous, Southern blonde former Miss USA, who’d had her crown taken away by Donald Trump after her raunchy (Eh, she had some fun, so what?) behavior hit the media; she sold Astons upstairs, near the James Bond-esque Aston Martin member only room (leather walls, bond theme door bell, top shelf liquor behind the bar, pass code, vault).

A male sales manager stood at the front of the meeting room, and asked for everyone’s attention. He then began his “pump us up to sell” speech, and turned on a scene from the movie “300.” On the wall before us, buffed, bare chested men were pumping themselves up for battle (get the analogy? Selling cars, it’s a battle!). I elbowed my fellow female co-workers, and began to wolf-call and howl at the screen. My feisty friend joined me: “Yeowww whoo hooo!” The manager giving the speech scowled, “Who’s doing that? Have some respect.”

I rolled my eyes and whispered to the feisty Filipina to my right. “Yeah, right. If those were women in bikinis on that screen would this room full of men be quiet? I think not.” Working with these guys everyday, I knew what hornballs they were.

So I howled some more. The battle leading General (errr, sales manager) stomped over to us three women and pointed his finger. “Stop that now!”

I bit my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh.

Then the meeting ended. We went off to battle.

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Tag: crappy jobs

How To Become Broke and Influence Nobody

TGI Fridays: Flair, Fried Food, Fruity Drinks & F*ck Ups

Finding Humor: Flying Skirts, Crappy Jobs, Crashing Bottles – That’s Funny!

Diary of a Mad Car Saleswoman, First Entry

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